


The Stream-of-Consciousness Musings Collection

by meependa (Hawkbringer)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Injury, Books, Car Accidents, DUI mention, Gen, POV First Person, Scents & Smells, Urban Life, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbringer/pseuds/meependa
Summary: Three of them to be precise, moody musings on various themes. Written in 2006. Synesthesially similar to New Age Ambient music.





	1. In middle school, I had this abusive Language Arts teacher...

**Author's Note:**

> Here I preserve another of my middle-school-writings, and bestow upon you my original author's note, written October 9th, 2006:
> 
> What follows is a collection of truly random thoughts. I wrote up two and a half pages of stuff on notebook paper, then typed it all into the computer. Here it is. Warnings are provided as needed.

Have you ever thought about violence? The answer is probably yes, what with our mental media culture and shit, but I won't go into that now. The fact is that not many people seriously have. My point is, has anyone in a position of power ever failed to meet your expectations so miserably, you thought something was wrong with that person? 

For example, say there's this really little kid, whose parents regularly hire different babysitters for him. Now, say every single one of his babysitters has been incredibly interested and nice and attuned to his needs and everything, but his newest one isn't like that at all. She pretends to be nice, and is very disinterested and only gets him water and a tomato sandwich for dinner. He tells on her after his parents get home, and they never hire her again. But how do you think Tommy feels? 

He has never encountered someone in such an influential position in his life who was so rude. His trust is betrayed; he is skittish around every one of his future babysitters and becomes paranoid when he's older and is home alone. How influential was that one babysitter to him? Though you have done far more damage than neglect. I function well when left alone. What have **you** done to me?


	2. Smell is the strongest sense tied to memory...

A breath of skunk-silk floats in from the window. Ashlynn looks up from her book as some of her favorite scents waft in to form her favorite nighttime menagerie: the caustic rust of the fire escape outside her neighbor's window; the algaeic stink of stagnant water from the rain barrel two roofs over; the moonlit roses in her father's window-box in late bloom; the particular bite of a freshly road-killed skunk; and last, but not least, the cold roiling of a pre-winter breeze. Ashley breathed in and out, smiled lightly, and went back to reading; for this miracle, this spectacle of sensation, to her, was as everyday-normal as just reading.


	3. A Contractually-Bound Blood-Drinking Semi-Vampire's Night Out

Title: -VIXEN-  
Author: me  
Warnings: blood, reference to murder, quasi-death, and murder, and a kiss. Or violence, disturbing images, and thematic elements, in film lingo.  
Notes: Vix is a semi-vampire, short for Vixen. The other guy has no name.  
Disclaimer: not needed. But I didn't invent vampires.

" _Man_ ," approved Vix as she lapped at her reddened fingers with a sluggish, sensation-savvy tongue. "It's been far too long since I drank at the river of life, don't you agree?" 

Her captive could not respond, just as mesmerized by the sight of his blood being scooped out as she was. Subconsciously, he probably knew he wouldn't last much longer; and Vix smiled succulently. She was under innumerable curses and spells that prevented her from breaking her contract; she was required to always enact the victim's last wish.

Most people were too addled in the head by their impending death to ask for anything but eternal happiness or pie or something like that. No one so far had made her promise to never kill again.

Her latest victim's breath came short, and she knew his time was near. Her fingers tingled in ecstasy. What would be asked of her tonight? She bent her knees and placed her palms on the ground in coy imitation of a cat, affording the mortal a view for which most boys his age would kill. His eyes were glazed in pre-death hallucination, and a goofy smile was plastered over his features.

Vix leaned closer, brushing her lips by his ear, whispering softly, "I am under orders to carry out your dying wish. Ask, and ye shall receive." She pulled back and smiled in fake sympathy at his blind expression. Some thought process must have sparked in this victim's brain, for he choked out /Kiss me,/ a few seconds later.

The murderess squealed and clapped her hands. A romantic request! How sweet.

Slightly too eagerly, Vix lowered her face to his and gazed once more onto the still-living face of a stranger she would never meet again. Then she shrugged, or what passed for it in her position, and locked lips with the young male. She proceeded to suck the vestiges of life-force from him, as one would exhaust a near-dead battery. A single breath whispered out his nose, batting at her eyelashes; and she turned up the corners of her mouth in a smile as she removed her lips from his. 

Vix smirked and blew a raspberry in his pale face and turned to go, certain he was dead.

A pale hand shot up and clasped her throat, preventing any sound of surprise. Fingers tight about her neck, he dragged her face close to his. 

/Who said you could leave?/ asked the corpse. Just as mesmerized as he had been minutes earlier, Vix did not protest the male-dominated kiss he pulled her into.

Brief. Oh, so brief; as his life had been, she glimpsed now. At 19, he was dead because of his friend's DUI, which had crashed into his car. Minoring in liberal arts at the nearby college, he was to be a father in five months. He would leave behind many sad people, but Vix felt assured not one of them was worthy enough to know him.

Vix flexed her legs like a cat again and left his body lying in the frosty, blood-drenched field, not far from the crashed car she had wrenched him from. 

When she was 10 feet away, she chanced a glance back and caught one eyelid snapping closed. A challenged, scheming smile spread across her features, one wider than in several years. _It's true,_ she thought as she continued walking east, _I will never meet him again as a stranger... but perhaps, as a colleague? As a friend?_

Her musings continued down such paths as a birdless silence greeted the dawn.


End file.
